Motherhood Uncensored

Hotel Bathroom Lights Should Be Outlawed & Other Tales From The Road *Now with Shorter Nose Hairs*

*Edited below*

I made two disconcerting discoveries so far on this trip.

1. I don't like driving in a car with two children and a dog.

2. I have long nose hairs.

And honestly, I think the long nose hair revelation is worse. I mean, how shitty of a deal can women get? Push the kid out of the vagina, breastfeed until the boobs look like demented pancakces, and then long nose hairs.

I'm blaming the damn bathroom mirror with those bright flourescent lights that are the bane of every mom's existence. I thought I had done a fabulous job plucking and tweezing but low and behold, I'm a fucking hairy beast according to the LaQuinta Inn. And I have long nose hairs.

But really, what do they know? They serve microwaveable sausage sandwiches in a bag, for crissakes.

I ate 4.

So me, my long nose hairs, and two kids have made it about half way. It doesn't help that it's 4503 degrees outside. And apparently my baby doesn't like to nurse in a sling in hell-like temperatures. Thus led me to hand express milk into a sippy cup at several rest stops in Virginia.

Hellooooo Virginia. Me and my milky boob salute you.

I even tried the evil formula.

He spit it out.

(Smart kid)

(heh)

Amidst our long ass drive, we had the pleasure of meeting this lovely blogger for ice cream and this lovely blogger and his family for dinner.

Who knew Cynical Dad was a black market dealer in princess crowns.

Of course we travel with princess costumes! Don't you?

Needless to say, we're off to our final destination. Here's hoping to a speedy arrival, a son who will eat something, and nose hair trimmers.

Sunuvabitch.

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There's nothing like Atlanta rush hour to put the cherry on top of a heinously long trip. But we're here. With no soap. And no window treatments.

Hello neighbors. My ass is happy to meet you.

Cripes. I didn't know how much I missed seeing the big yellow Waffle House signs.

Not.

The house that I had yet to have seen in person is fantastic. But let's be honest. When you live with your in-laws for almost a year, there's no room to be picky.

So I had an orgasm on the bathroom floor when I saw the his and her vanities.

We live next to a bi-racial couple with three children including one wee baby (hooray for diversity, extra hooray for diverse people who nurse!). I enjoyed a 24 oz can of Coors Light (hey, it's the South people) on my huge living room floor and enjoyed the quiet.

Ah. Quiet.

But then my kid kept waking up every four seconds to eat since he didn't like to eat in South Carolina.

So much for quiet.

So now we have to move all our shit into it. Perfect time to call "parenting duty" and head to the pool, don't you think?

Family Togetherness: Can We All Fit in the Tub?

With my husband now gone many days out of the month, I've been trying to figure out how to get my family together for some quality time. Since I'm with both kids most of the week, I have to admit that family time is not exactly what I'm looking for.

I want to sit in front of the television with a big drink and watch Top Chef.

But alas, I know it's important for us to bond, particularly since my husband is away a lot. But quite frankly, we all don't like the same things -- except eating. And so I've decided to try a few new family activities that might just work.

Family Bath Time

Sort of like the Shel Silverstein poem, "There's too many men in this tub," I'm thinking we could all try to take a bath together. It would lend itself to a bazillion important conversations and we'd all be getting clean - one of my husband's favorite things.

Family Potty Time

Similar to family bath time, we'd all sit in the bathroom and converse while everyone uses the potty. You figure, if you can stand each other while you're pooping, chances are you don't have to worry about lack of bonding.

Family Cleaning Time

I say kill two birds with one stone. Or, in this case, one bottle of Windex. Then I won't have to hear about how I don't clean.

Okay. So maybe these are the best ideas. I swear it's got to be easier when they are older and can actually do things. I find it hard to be actively involved when I've got to tend to the baby. But perhaps we can try to make more of an effort, picking a specific day? night? morning? where we all make sure to do something together.

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I'm en route to ATL! Wish me luck. LONG DRIVE WITH TWO CHILDREN AND DOG. WEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

A Pilot's Life For Me

We never sat down to divide the parenting responsibilities when my daughter decided to show her glorious face. I decided to continue working part time even though I thought I had wanted to stay home. The Air Force decided that he needed to work 14 hours a day plus weekend trips.

"She doesn't like me" he'd say, handing this screaming little being off to me as I sat alone in the rocking chair in the dark nursery.

We scrambled to do what we thought was best. I worked and parented a lot. He worked and parented a little.

And it didn't work. For me.

Since then we've struggled with the notion of co-parenting. I became a stay/work-at-home-mother where the line between on and off duty as a mother is blurred.

Comparisons are drawn.

"Is it harder to hold our daughter for two naps every single day and bounce her non-stop so she stops screaming or fly a plane?" I'd ask him, begging him to just come home and skip the gym so I could get a break.

Now he's gone for all but a week a month. A few days here, a few more there. She cries for him any time she gets upset. "I want my daddy," she screams.

Then she cries for him when he leaves. And I'm left to pick up the pieces.

Co-parenting is a myth that I'm not sure will ever exist in my home. I parent my children singularly almost every day. We have a routine and a schedule. On most days, it's not pretty. The naps are minimal, but so are the tantrums.

I work during naps and long into the night. Sometimes I think I work in my sleep.

But then my husband comes home. My daughter hangs on him like a deranged Christmas ornament. He kisses me, plays with her, holds the baby, and changes a diaper.

"She doesn't need a nap," he tells me, as she rubs her eyes, later throwing tired tantrum fits. What do you know? You haven't been here in a week.

"I think he needs to eat," he says, plopping him down on my lap. Then feed him. I'm pretty sure you can mix cereal can't you?

I feel as though his presence is fleeting. We are the constant while he comes and goes like a strong breeze blowing us over and leaving us to pull ourselves up on our own.

We are disconnected as people and as parents.

We're no longer four.

We're 3 + 1.

Because I'm Hugely Competitive, Even Amongst Friends

I'll see your cock and raise you a big black ball (or "bum-bum" as I was told).

Mine Was Too Until I Had You

"Mommy, my butt isn't stinky. It's happy."